I'm Yours
by LoveBugOC
Summary: A smile ghosts his lips as he feels her fingers trail over his face; down his nose, across his cheekbones, down his jaw. Over his lips. OneShot. SongFic.


Disclaimer: I don't own the song or the characters :(

A/N: This is my first shot at a SongFic, so hopefull all goes well! I'm in love with this song called I'm Yours by The Script, its probably one of the cutest songs I've ever heard. I was listening to it the other day, and this popped into my head so of course I had to write it down. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><em><strong>I'm Yours<strong>_

X

_You touch these tired eyes of mine  
>And map my face out line by line<br>And somehow growing old feels fine_

x

It's getting late when he gets home from work, almost 10:00. He didn't know that working manual labor in the Muggle world would be so time consuming. Nor did he know that manual labor would be so…hard. So stressful.  
>He's tired and he's sore and he just wants to find his girlfriend, apologize for the stupid fight they had earlier than morning and sleep. He slips his shoes off, leaving them on the mat at the front door, and shrugs off his winter jacket. His muscles are stiff and he groans and pushes his hands through his damp, blonde hair.<br>And find her, he does. She's lying in bed, reading of course, and even though he tells her not to wait up for him every day he knows that's exactly what she's doing. She doesn't notice his presence as he lingers in the doorway, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the frame. He always enjoys watching her and the grace in which she does things. But there's something about watching her read, that tugs at his heart strings every time. She never ceases to amaze him.  
>He pushes himself away from the door and she looks up at him. He recognizes the look of relief and happiness that shines her innocent brown eyes as he walks towards her. Coming home to this will never get old, he thinks.<br>She loves him.  
>He doesn't even bother to change, just climbs onto the bed and pulls her body flush against his under the covers. She looks at him and her eyes are so full of love and affection that it sort of scares him, but also humbles him.<br>_I'm sorry_, he whispers.  
><em>Me too,<em> she whispers back.  
>His eyes are too heavy and tired to keep open so he closes them and she runs her soft, delicate fingers over his eyes lids. A smile ghosts his lips as he feels her fingers trail over his face; down his nose, across his cheekbones, down his jaw. Over his lips. It's a routine now.<br>He used to be afraid of growing old. Of being weak. But now, with her, growing old sounds just fine.

X

_I listen close for I'm not smart  
>You wrap your thoughts in works of art<br>And they're hanging on the walls of my heart_

x

She's a dreamer. A believer. She's got all sorts of ideas running around that pretty little head of hers. And he listens to every single one of them with a smile. She can go on for hours about what she thinks, what she believes. And he'll listen because he loves her voice and he loves her mind and he loves the way she doesn't let anybody or anything keep her down. He listens because she's illustrated and colorful and Merlin, he wishes he could be like her.  
>She's pacing around the living room. He watches her from the couch as she waves her arms about wildly in her explanation of her latest conquest. He grins at her in amusement. Even when she's done, taking a deep breath and smiling to herself, he stares at her. She turns to him then, looking at him strangely.<br>_What_, she asks, a pink tinge colour rising in her cheeks.  
><em>I love you,<em>he replies.

X

_I may not have the softest touch  
>I may not say the words as such<br>And though I may not look like much  
>I'm yours<em>

x

His hands are rough and calloused from his manual labor. His grip is firm and hard, almost rough at times when he's asleep. Nightmares like to haunt his dreams, and he reacts physically. And then there are the times when the demons of his past become too much and he needs to let off steam and aggression. She helps him whether it's on the couch, in the shower, or in the bedroom. Every morning afterwards he finds a new bruise on her otherwise flawless skin.  
>This morning he finds one on her wrist in the shape of his fingers. He groans inwardly, knowing immediately that he was being too rough with her last night. She stirs in his arms and he loosens his grip on her just enough to allow her to roll around and face him. She smiles, curling her slim figure against his.<br>_Hi_.  
>He smiles back, lifting her wrist to get a better look.<br>_It's nothing_.  
>He frowns then, shaking his head and closing his eyes as he presses a soft kiss to the discoloured skin.<br>I'm sorry, he apologizes.  
>He's not good with words, although he used to be excellent with insults and prejudice. His tongue is sharp and his wit is quick. But everything else fails him. He isn't good at expressing his feelings-he's a Malfoy after all, and as such he was always taught to keep his feelings to himself and deal with them when he's alone.<br>She understands. She understands _him_, and she understands that even though he doesn't tell her as often as he should, he loves her. She understands that he can't always tell her how he feels or what he's thinking. But he thinks that she still knows, and that's important to him.

X

_And though my edges may be rough  
>I never feel I'm quite enough<br>It may not seem like very much  
>But I'm yours<em>

x

His past is something he never really came to terms with, no matter how many times she would tell him that it doesn't matter. It's their greatest argument, his past. It's their biggest fight, every damn time.  
>He can't escape it.<br>It stares back at him when he looks in the mirror after one of his nightmares, and his eyes are haunted and scared.  
>It's in his muscles and his bones after a long day at work in the manual labor business because the Ministry-or any other Wizarding association won't hire him. His name and his fortune mean nothing now.<br>It's plastered on his left forearm-ugly and black and absolutely horrid-and no amount of magic or potions will get rid of it.  
>She says she's okay with it. She says that his past doesn't bother her because knows who he really is and who he really is, is nothing like his past. He doesn't always believe her though, because he watches her. He watches her shoulders slouch and the air leave her lungs in heavy sighs when she realizes that they don't have enough money to pay the bills. He knows she's disappointed.<br>Because he, too, is disappointed. He knows she's better off without him. She's everything he is not and she deserves better than the life he can give her. He isn't good enough for her-he never has been. But she denies it, of course. She says that he's the best thing that's ever happened to her. And he wants to believe her, so badly, but he just can't. Not when there are wizards like Cormac McLaggen and Oliver Wood competing for her attention.

One day, however, late in March, when the snow is beginning to melt, all of that changes. Shifts. They're walking down the street in Diagon Ally, her hand clasped in his while her other rested on his arms. He's become accustomed to the curious and disappointed glances and the hushed 'what is she thinking' whispers. They both have. But something inside her snaps that day. They walk past a group of older witches, probably in their thirties and they're all staring and talking like the couple in question isn't even there. She drops his hand when one of them snickers and he immediately tries to retrieve it, to pull her away before she causes a scene.  
><em>If you have something to say to me then say it<em>, she snaps at the now very surprised looking women_. Go on, don't be shy. Otherwise I would advise you to shut, up. All of you.  
><em>She's not just talking to the three women anymore; she's talking to the whole street. And he watches from her, his gaze never faltering.  
><em>Everyone deserves a second chance<em>, she says_. He's proved his worth time and time again and yet it is people like you who make him think that he's worthless. It's people like you who make him believe that he doesn't deserve a second chance.  
><em>Without another word otherwise she turns back around, takes back his hand and continues walking down the street, causing him to stumble into step next to her.  
>This is why he loves her.<br>This is also the first time he's ever believed her.

X

_You healed these scars over time  
>Embraced my soul<br>You loved my mind  
>You're the only angel in my life<em>

x

In a way she's brought him back to life. She's showing him a completely different side to himself that he never knew existed. And she's offering him a life he never thought possible.  
>She believed in him when nobody else would; when he wasn't sure he even knew what belief was.<br>She saw him as a man who had seen too much pain and suffering to know happiness, while everyone else just saw a Death Eater.  
>She's seen his soul. She's embraced who he's become; who he's always been, but was never given the chance.<br>She's seen his mind, seen what he's capable off. And she encourages him to use it.  
>She's the only person in his life who makes sense to him. The only person he can trust with his soul and his mind and his heart. She's the only person he can trust, period. She's his saviour. His soul mate. His angel.<p>

X

_The day news came my best friend died  
>My knees went week and you saw me cry<br>Say I'm still the soldier in your eyes_

x

On July 16, 2003, his whole world came crashing down around him. He'd received a letter from his best friends owl, written in his mother's neat handwriting.  
>He'd lost his best friend.<br>The day before, Blaise had been walking down a Muggle street with his Muggle girlfriend when he was struck by a moving vehicle. He'd been quickly transported to the Hospital, and then to St. Mungo's where not even the medi-witches could save him. He died just hours later.  
>She had been there, of course, watching him read it with curious eyes. His own eyes began to glaze over and in his attempt to keep himself together he threw the letter down on the coffee table and disappeared into the kitchen. She was there moments later, letter in one hand and soothing his back with the other as he leaned against the counter, bracing himself with his hands. As soon as she touched him, his resolve shattered and his knees gave way. He landed on the floor with a thud as hot tears escaped his eyes and he curled into a ball on the kitchen floor with his back against the cupboards. Next thing he knew, she was sitting down next to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down. His own arms curled around her waist, clinging to her desperately as sobs wracked his body. He couldn't stop. No amount of Malfoy pride could stop his feelings from making them abundantly known.<br>[To this day, she's still the only person to ever have seen him cry].  
>Later that day, he's lying on the couch with his head in her lap as she raked her fingers through his platinum blonde hair.<br>_I'm sorry_, he whispers, _about earlier_.  
><em>You have nothing to apologize for Draco<em>, she whispers back. _You didn't do anything wrong. Crying doesn't make you weak, love. You're the strongest man I know_.  
>And when he looks at her, he can tell that she means it. He can see it in her eyes.<p>

X

_I may not have the softest touch  
>I may not say the words as such<br>And though I may not look like much  
>I'm yours<br>And though my edges may be rough  
>I never feel I'm quite enough<br>It may not seem like very much  
>But I'm yours<br>_  
>x<p>

He's always been hers. Always. He was hers in school, the second she punched him in the face. He was hers the following year in that form fitting dress. He was hers a couple years after that when he was so in over his head with Voldemort's direct orders that he had turned to her for comfort; and she, to him, for an escape. He was hers when she showed up at his trial on his behalf a couple years later. He was hers a few months later when she was the only one brave and kind enough to acknowledge his presence.  
>He was hers to hate, to care for and to hurt-if she so wanted.<br>And now, as he watches her walk down the aisle next her father looking beautifully flawless, he is hers to love. He knows this without a doubt now.  
>And she, in return, is his to keep.<p> 


End file.
